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<title>06. 13. ‘20. 09:38pm by iirusu</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24720430">06. 13. ‘20. 09:38pm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iirusu/pseuds/iirusu'>iirusu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Where the Geese Fly and Bulls Cry [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coffee Shops, No Dialogue, POV First Person, Set in Colorado, Trauma but it's like very small and hinted</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:21:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24720430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iirusu/pseuds/iirusu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They're perched in barstools in the House of Windsor and try to talk about the harder memories.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Where the Geese Fly and Bulls Cry [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785916</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>06. 13. ‘20. 09:38pm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sorry this one's so short!! There's more coming, I have two more I've written and am editing :)</p><p>And should I start drawing visuals for the lighter works?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s eight in the evening and through the capacious windows of the coffee shop, I can see the clouds tumbling over one another, competing in a race to leave my gaze first. We’re in the House of Windsor, and you’re stationary in your barstool while I am spinning, catching a glimpse out the windows every time my eyes swing past it. After our conversation last week you left briskly and scarcely read my messages, but today you reluctantly agreed to come out. You order nothing. You say nothing. You’re here only because I called for you and I know that this time you’re smarter, this time you know I plan to drag out more answers from you, and you say nothing because of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I only smile; as we sat down, as I ordered, as we sat silently, and even when you suddenly stood up to leave. I grab your hand with the same one I held your tickets with, and I huff a laugh in the difference between the textures. (I felt like holding the tickets made me softer). You go rigid at my amusement, but by holding your hand tighter I’m able to pull you back into your seat, and finally- <em>finally-</em> make eye contact with you, for the first time since calling you out that evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only remaining employee in the shop ducks into the back, by the cola machines, to pour himself a glass. I take this opportunity to tighten my hold on your hand and begin speaking. I ask you how you’re feeling, and you’re much more pointed with your responses since our exchange last week. You tell me how you felt at ease in the gentle atmosphere of Old Town’s buildings, and I smile at the fact, but you can tell I’m not satisfied. You hold my hand back and grip impossibly tight, abruptly saying that you want your tickets back. I know that you do. I tear away and find that holding your gaze is just the same as having your hand in an iron grip. I don’t let it go, and you don’t either. I decide to forget your demand and take the bold approach of asking about the concrete basement I know you’d remembered last month and made yourself sick over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know pain crosses your face and you’re feeling betrayed that I’d bring it up at a time like this, in a place like this, but I couldn’t think of anything else I’d like to know right now. I’ve pieced together on my own, your detachment at the hockey game, and what it meant for you to be dead on the other end. I’ve put the memory to rest. Now, again, I want to really know about the core of your mind. I want to know you down to your heart, and it means knowing everything. You haven’t said anything since I asked a few minutes ago, and so I pry again, softer this time, beginning to fear that I had pushed too far before, that you would really be gone this time when you leave. So I ask about how you’re doing at home, and I know by the clenching of your jaw that my question sounds too light for what it entails.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You tell me your sister is fine. You can’t even fake a smile when you say it, and I know I can’t either, hearing you assert the four words. The answer should seem out of place, but I know. And after this, coffee is being slid across the counter to me and I take hold of it delicately, drinking as you relax slightly and start rambling like before, gazing out the window all the while. You’re nervous. I think that I’ve pushed too far when you babble on, but when I tune in you seem to be going on about your days at home, old and new, and it all feels relatively mundane. But then, as you go on, I realize. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><em>I’m here.</em> It may just be for a few moments, but I’m here, at the heart of your mind. You’re talking about home and when I focus on you there are tears slipping down your cheeks. You’d turned back to talking about your sister. You’re stumbling over your words like the clouds that glide through the sky, and then I recognize that I’m crying too. We were always silent criers. Your voice never so much as quavers when you talk now, but you’re feeling so much inside that the tears can’t help but come down harder, and so I stop you there. With my hand now over your’s once more, in a gentle hold, I tell you to stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We pay, and we walk home. You’re gone when I turn the corner and I’m thinking that next time we should talk in a place alone. I must’ve looked strange ruminating by myself on the barstool.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In this one, I tried touching lightly on the sister, but in the following works of the series it'll go a lot further a lot faster, so I'll make sure to put TW's on the next ones. And if you're ever visiting in the north, I would recommend going through Old Town, it really is charming.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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